


Life Imitates Hell

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is attacked and memories of the Cage come back to haunt him. Cue Dean picking up the pieces. post 7x07 "The Mentalists" mentions of non-con. You are warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Imitates Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Well, so…sometimes even I get the urge to just…torment Sam for the sake of tormenting him and having Dean pick up the pieces. Nothing but angst and comfort herein kids. :D and a tiny smidge of hurt. This scene came to me in the shower of all places.

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Sam pulled his coat more tightly together against the stiff November wind and rethought the wisdom of going out for a midnight Taco Bell craving run. Dean had practically begged and Sam had given in after only three minutes. He chuckled as he turned down the alley that would land him out back of the restaurant.

He gasped in surprise as someone stepped out from behind the dumpster next to him and slammed into his body, pushing him back against the brick wall on the other side of the alley. "Get off me!" Sam yelled. He brought an arm up and froze as a knife blade flashed in the dim light before coming to rest against his neck.

"Take it easy, pretty boy." The man smiled through his grizzled, dark beard and pressed harder into him. "Wouldn't wanna hurt that pretty little neck of yours."

"Get the fuck off me." Sam glared at his blotchy face and the murky brown eyes looking at him with something that made him uncomfortable. "You want money you can have it."

"Oh it aint money I'm after." The man pressed the blade more firmly into his throat as he ran his other hand down Sam's chest in something almost affectionate. "I definitely got better ideas."

"You should kill him, Sammy." Lucifer's voice breathed into Sam's ear and he flinched against the blade. "No one gets to play with my bitch but me."

Sam turned his head slightly and saw the Devil's face, smiling sadly as he reached out to run a finger down Sam's jaw. "No." Sam said and knew his voice was pleading now rather than angry.

"Oh yes." The man pressed his hips in against Sam's suggestively. "You move wrong, you even breathe wrong and…" He pushed the knife in harder. "Now you just take it like a man and we both walk away happy."

"Are you really just gonna take this, bunk buddy?" Lucifer wheedled from over his shoulder now. "Even in the Cage I was the only who got to play with you Sammy. You remember. I know you do."

Sam's eyes slammed shut on the progression of memories that swamped him; Lucifer, the rack, a fuming Michael watching as he…He shot his eyes open as the man's hand slid down between his legs. "No!" Sam shouted, his voice breaking on anguish and remembered terror. He no longer cared about the knife.

Sam brought his head forward into the man's face, his forehead striking hard into his nose and he heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage. He shoved him back and brought his arm around to drive his elbow into his face. There was the sound of bone cracking and Sam's would-be rapist crumpled unmoving to the ground.

Sam panted, heaving for air into burning lungs while Lucifer chuckled as he knelt by the man. "No. No." Sam turned and broke into a run. He needed to get back. He needed the familiarity of the motel and the safety of his brother's presence. The memories still played in his mind, taunting him with the phantom feel of hands where they didn't belong. "God!" He ran and staggered to a stop finally at the door of their room in the little, run down motel on the edge of town. He fumbled the key from his pocket, having to try twice to get it into the lock and at last managed to open the door.

"Dude, you just left!" Dean turned from watching the tv with a frown. "Where's my burritos?" He watched Sam push the door shut and then just stand there, staring. His eyes were too wide, a flush rode on his cheeks over skin that had gone pale and he was shaking. It was, however, the sight of blood on the side of his neck that had Dean off the bed and reaching for him. "Sam! What the hell happened to your neck?"

"Huh?" Sam broke out of his stupor and flinched back as Dean reached for him. He brought a hand up to his own neck and frowned when he felt something warm and wet. He raised his hand and saw the blood and swallowed hard. "I…uh…I need a sh…a shower. Sorry. Sorry." He ducked around Dean, refusing the hand that tried to latch on to him and hastily closed and locked the door.

Sam tore himself out of his clothes. He wanted them off, not touching him and he needed the blood to be gone. "Oh god." He moaned and crushed a fist into his mouth to contain the sobs trying to break out. He reached with his other hand and turned the shower on. Sam stepped into the spray uncaring of the scalding heat that instantly turned his skin bright red. It helped to chase away the remembered cold that was seeping into his bones and making him shiver.

He swallowed convulsively against the need to throw up and shoved his head under the spray. The sting of the heat helped him to let his mind go blank and focus on the pain instead of the memories or the feel of that man's hands on him. Sam didn't know how long he stood there before the water began to go cold. The shivers returned and he shut off the water with still shaking hands. He pulled the curtain aside, grabbed a towel to wrap around himself and then choked softly. The only clothes he had were the ones he'd worn into the bathroom and…he couldn't. He just could not put those back on.

Sam took a deep, shaking breath and went to the door, kicking the offending articles under the sink. He undid the lock and cracked the door. "Hey. Uh…Dean? Can you…can I have my bag or…my sweats. Please?" He knew he wasn't speaking clearly and he just couldn't get his mind to wrap properly around his thoughts.

Dean had been waiting outside the door and he nodded. The tension and fear were crystal clear in his brother's voice and made him ache. "Yeah, Sammy." There were a million questions he wanted…needed to ask but they could wait. Right now, the man in the bathroom looked and sounded about two steps from running into the night and he had to stop that. He went to Sam's bag and took out his sweatpants and a pair of boxers and went back to him. The door was still only cracked, Sam's face a sliver through it. "Here you go, kiddo. You can have your shirt after I get a look at your neck, ok?" He spoke softly and calmly.

Sam took a minute to process that and then nodded. He took the clothes Dean handed him and closed the door quietly.

Dean waited, pacing back and forth and made himself stop and take a breath. He got the first aid kit and set it on the table. He opened it and got what he figured he'd need to take care of Sam's neck ready, all the while needing to know who had hurt his brother and what happened that was so bad he could barely speak. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. It had to be his hallucinations. Lucifer was screwing with the kid again, somehow.

He turned when he heard the bathroom door open and watched Sam emerge. Dean didn't try to touch him. He'd already watched Sam flinch away from him once. He pointed to the table instead and again kept his voice low and calm. "Sit. Lemme look." Sam nodded jerkily and went to the table, dropping into the chair. Dean could see the fine tremors coursing through his body as he sat in the chair next to him.

"I'm just gonna clean this out, alright?" Dean asked and picked up a clean piece of gauze and the peroxide. He waited, raising his brows and Sam nodded. "Ok." He hadn't seen Sam this jumpy since the warehouse where he'd almost killed himself and that drove a whole new shaft of fear into him.

Dean was gentle, touching his skin as little as possible and still Sam flinched and jerked with each touch. The slice was clean and long, if shallow. He was glad he wouldn't have to make Sam sit through stitches for it. "You wanna tell me what happened?" Dean asked gently and set the gauze aside. "You trippin' the Devil again?" Sam gave him another silent nod. "Ok but…Sammy, no hallucination did this. This was a knife. What happened?"

Sam closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. His control was a skittish, frayed thing and he held on to it with the last shred of his will. "I…there was a…a guy in the alley. I tried to…he jumped me. I didn't even see him until…" He broke off and took another breath, becoming angry with himself for not being more in control. "He had a knife and he said he…he touched…he was going to r…" Sam stuttered in a painful breath and couldn't say the word. "Lucifer was there…I mean not really but…but he was…reminding me of…god!"

Dean watched Sam jump suddenly as though something had touched him. His eyes widened in realization of what Sam had escaped in the alley and then of some of what he had endured trapped in the Cage with two very pissed off Arch-Angels. He grabbed a fresh wad of gauze from the kit and put it over the wound on Sam's neck. He pressed hard into the wound, deliberately making it hurt. Sam's eyes, filled with the kind of horror Dean knew all too well, flew open and up to meet his.

"Stone number one, Sammy. Right here. Ok?" Dean ducked his head to meet his eyes better where Sam sat hunched over himself in the chair. "I'm right here. You're here."

Sam nodded shakily after a moment and focused all his attention on the burning pain in his neck beneath his brother's hand. "Sorry."

"Don't, Sam," Dean said in a voice equally as shaken as his brothers. "Don't you apologize for this. Not this." He pressed a little harder on the cut and swallowed the tears trying to escape. Sam needed him to be the one in control. "He gone now?" Sam nodded again. "Ok."

Dean finished cleaning the knife wound and taped a dressing over it. He stood and went to his own duffel, rooting around in the bottom. Sam was still shivering, trembling and Dean didn't think he was even aware of it anymore. Rage made his own hands shake as he searched through the bag. He'd always known on a sort of clinical level that his brother would have to have been…raped, and it took something for him to even think that word, let alone say it. He knew but to have the solid proof of it from his brother's own mouth was disturbing on a level he was having trouble with. Nothing was sacred in Hell. He knew that and pushed away his own memories. Anything that could potentially break you was used and for Sam…that would have been high on the list.

Dean took a deep breath again, settling his anger and found what he was looking for. He smiled sadly and pulled it out. It was an ageing, thread worn hoodie of Sam's that Dean had kept in his bag, even after Sam had jumped into the Cage. He hadn't been able to take it out and now he was glad of that weakness as he went back to the table.

"Here. Put this on." Dean held out the hoodie and watched Sam's eyes turn, see it and fill with emotion.

Sam couldn't believe it. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at something he'd thought long lost. The hoodie had been Dean's first and then a hand-me-down to his little brother and Sam had never minded. He had worn it bare and always craved its comfort when he was sick. He hadn't seen it in years. A tear escaped to roll down his cheek as his fingers closed on the soft fabric and memories of being safe and warm came to silence the Hell in his mind. He pulled the hoodie over his head and wrapped his arms around himself with its familiar warmth.

"Come on, Sammy. Bed." Dean was careful, making sure Sam saw his hands before he touched him and pulled him up from the chair, leading him to the bed and pushed him gently down onto it. He sighed and steeled himself because he needed to know if there might still be someone out there gunning for his little brother. "Sammy? What happened to him?" Sam shook once, hard. Dean sat beside him and slid an arm over his shoulders and squeezed. "You're safe, Sam. I swear."

"I uh…I don't know." Sam said softly. His voice was little more than a whisper and he felt…broken. "I might have…I mean I don't…god, I might have killed him, Dean." He shut his eyes miserably. Murder was not something he could stomach even after what had nearly happened. He wasn't a monster. He needed to not be a monster.

Dean got up and went to his bag again. He rifled through until he found the little bottle and went back to sit beside him. "Here." He shook two out and picked up Sam's hand, putting them in his palm. "Take these. You'll feel better."

"What are they?" Sam asked as he eyed the pills suspiciously.

"Effective." Dean smiled.

Sam felt the beginning of a smile tug at his own lips and he remembered Dean saying the same thing once; after the first time his Wall had cracked. He considered refusing now as he had then and decided he just didn't have the strength for it that night. He swallowed them dry. "Thanks."

"That's what awesome big brothers are for." Dean smiled again and pushed gently at him until Sam lay down. He pulled the blanket up and over his brother, tucking it in around his shoulders to further warm him. "This is not your fault. Get some rest, Sammy. Go on." He stayed sitting next to Sam's hip and put his hand back over the bandaged wound, pressing lightly into it to ground him; to make him feel safe enough to sleep.

Sam sighed out a shaking breath and rolled until he was curved around Dean on the edge of the bed. He pulled the shirt closer around his neck and let his eyes close with his nose inches from Dean's knee.

Dean stayed beside him with his hand on his neck and listened as Sam's breathing slowly, grudgingly deepened and evened out into sleep; the pills doing their job as he'd hoped they would. He waited a while, and then waited a while longer before finally deciding Sam was far enough under that he wouldn't notice his absence. He rose from the bed with a look of grim purpose on his face and grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on and went silently out of the room.

Dean knew where the Taco Bell was and the route Sam would have taken in this cold to get there the fastest. He followed his brother's steps in his head and let the rage he'd ignored in the room rise up to wash over him and warm him. He saw the alley and turned down it with deliberate steps. He was nearly through when he finally saw what he'd been looking for; a man lay still and face down on the grimy pavement in a small puddle of blood.

"Hello you son of a bitch." Dean said softly. He put the toe of his boot under the bastard's shoulder and flipped him over to his back. "Damn, Sammy." The man's face was destroyed. His nose was crushed, his left cheek distinctly caved in and all of it covered over with his own blood. Dean fought the need to take out his gun and empty a clip into him, kneeling instead beside him. He reached a hand out to his throat in search of a pulse and sighed.

"Ah hell, Sam." Dean shook his head. There was no heartbeat. He was dead and already going cold. It was obvious that Sam's strike to his nose had driven something up into his brain that didn't belong there. Dean stood and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He felt no sorrow at all for the man's death; he deserved it as far as Dean was concerned. It was Sam he worried about. He knew his brother and no matter how well deserved; Sam would never forgive himself for killing him.

He spotted a knife off to the side and bent, picking it up. The blade was coated in blood and Dean ground his teeth, knowing it was Sam's. "You're lucky he killed you." Dean said, quietly and pocketed the blade to remove any evidence of his brother. "Cause if I'd gotten to you…" He didn't finish the thought. Dean turned his back on the dead man and left the alley.

Dean let himself back into the motel room and let the sight of Sam still asleep and safe settle him. He took his jacket off and tossed it over the chair before going back to sit beside his brother. He wanted to get some sleep of his own but leaving Sam again, even just for his own bed, was suddenly not an option anymore. He shifted Sam carefully and smiled as the pills kept him deeply asleep. Dean sat on the bed, propped up against the wall with Sam beside him and snorted a soft laugh when, even asleep, he still curled back around to rest with his head buried against Dean's hip.

"You're such a girl sometimes." Dean said softly. The first tears escaped his control to slide down his face. He wiped them away in irritation and draped an arm around Sam's head to rest on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and put his head back on the wall, matching his breathing to his brother's.

Dean had no idea how long he had slept when he was woken by the sound of broken whimpering and a sharp cry. He jerked awake and instinctively tightened the arm that still curled over his brother. "Sam. Sammy. Wake up." He shook him lightly and was rewarded with a short gasp and Sam eyes shooting open. "Hey. You're ok. You're safe."

"Dean." Sam gasped and let his head drop back against his hip. "Crap."

"Don't worry about it." Dean absently ran a hand through Sam's too-long hair and squeezed his shoulder again. "Go back to sleep."

Sam shook his head lightly and cleared his throat. "Dean." He'd woken with the memory of what the man in the alley had almost done and the feeling of his elbow crashing into his face. "Dean, what if I killed him?" He had to know.

Dean suffered silently for the screwed-up, half-crazed, tortured and amazing man who could still worry that he'd killed someone even if the son of a bitch had planned on raping him. He swallowed back bile at that word and smiled instead. He smiled and lied to protect him. "You didn't, dude. Saw it on the news earlier." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Man found beaten in alley taken to area hospital. They even said he was a suspected rapist. He's fine." Dean waited and felt the tension ease slightly under his hand as Sam relaxed back into the bed with relief. "He'll live to regret touching my little brother."

Sam sighed and smiled and let his eyes fall closed again. "Thank god." He breathed softly. He wanted the bastard to pay but not with his life, not because of him. "Thanks, Dean." He relaxed completely, not even minding that he was curled around his big brother like a ten year old and let the pills Dean had given him pull him back under to sleep.

Dean carded a hand through Sam's hair again and listened to him breathe. He let the sound of his breaths no longer filled with panic and the weight of Sam pressed calmly and safely against his hip soothe away the rage and the panic and slid a little further down in the bed. "I've got you, Sammy." He made a promise to himself to never put Sam in that position again. "Taco fucking Bell." Dean whispered and hated himself a little for the stupid craving that had sent his brother out at midnight in the shit neighborhood. "Never again. I swear, Sammy. God, I'm sorry."

"ShuddupDea…" Sam's sleepy voice floated up from his hip as his little brother snaked one of his arms over his legs.

Dean gaped down at him. He felt a smile cracking his face and a soft laugh escaped him as he wiped the last of the tears from his face. "You always were an octopus." He shook his head in wonder that somehow Sam, who had been a traumatized disaster for most of the night, had made _him_ feel better. "Night, Sammy."

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_The End._


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